Segovax and Hisolda, A Tragedy
by homicidalmommy
Summary: "You desire such a thing? Freedom?"  "Yes, Domina."  "There is something I desire. See it attended to, And your freedom will be secured..."  What drove Segovax to lay hands upon the Champion of Capua? Every slave has a story. R&R, s'il vous plait!
1. Chapter 1

The other men held him down tightly as Segovax writhed and begged in vain for mercy from his master. The petite man looming above him looked at him with disgust. Batiatus seemed large and powerful to Segovax strapped to a slab and lain out, naked and exposed like a lamb skinned for a roast.

"Mercy is a thing of enormous value, Segovax; you purchase it with _answers_. What possessed you to lay hands upon a man who bore you no ill will, the fucking Champion of my ludus?" When Segovax did not speak, his Dominus motioned for Rhaskos to tighten his grip at the base of Segovax's cock. "You try my patience." The pain from the beating at Crixus' hand and Rhaskos' painful grip granted him moments of maddening clarity and Segovax noticed a figure standing in the doorway. "Speak, you fucking Celt! Speak and your miserable life may be spared."

Lucretia entered the ludus to aid her husband just as Crixus swooned suddenly. She caught him without thinking and quickly helped him to a bench. The injured Gaul looked at her with a cautioning eye. "Naevia, tend to him." She ordered and joined her husband. Segovax could see Naevia kneel in front of Crixus and pretend to check his wounds as he cleverly slipped his hand up her thigh. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of thick red hair out of the corner of his eye. Nothing there.

"Spartacus! How fares our Champion?" Batiatus motioned to Spartacus and Medicus as the Thracian walked to his Dominus' side with a steady gait. Segovax marveled at the fact that, aside from slight bruising at his neck, Spartacus stood tall and strong, seemingly unaffected by his attack. Piss and shit, he thought, almost amused at how fortunes turn. He stood on the brink of destruction and those cock eaters Duro and Agron will soon bear the mark. And have a chance to earn their freedom.

"I am unharmed. Medicus' time would be better spent tending to the brother who came to my aid." A couple of the gladiators patted Spartacus' back and others hooted Crixus' name. A brotherhood that would have been mine. Segovax thought he saw a glint of pity in the man's eye and he mumbled a prayer under his bated breath, asking for a miracle. "What is this man's fate, Dominus?"

Batiatus' hateful gaze bore holes into Segovax; he knew the prayer to his Celtic Gods was of no use. "His punishment will be determined by his cooperation. Glaber's wife as his Domina, his cause is rather obvious." Spartacus' eyes momentarily glowed with anger at the name. The hatred is mutual, he thought, suddenly understanding he was drawn into a conflict far larger than he imagined. Earlier this evening, he thought, I could have everything I wanted, if patience was employed. His heart ached; I will never see her again. "I would hear this shit-eater admit to the crime and take her name."

Honor. The word seemed so hollow now, so foreign. No longer a word but a collection of obscure symbols, idle etchings on faded walls. Segovax struggled to find his voice and reveal his Domina's vicious plot against the Thracian. But something still held him back and his parted lips closed.

"Quintus, he has chosen his fate." Lucretia spoke with a groan, looking at her husband with an impatient arched brow. She turned to leave, indifferent.

"Very well then. Rhaskos." Batiatus looked once more at Segovax, looked at the plea in the man's eye. He glanced over the man's powerful form and clucked his tongue. "What a fucking waste."

Rhaskos smiled at Segovax, enjoying the moment. "Hold your breath, you worthless shit. It may help with the pain." He gripped Segovax's cock harder as a guard approached, dagger drawn. "But not by much!"

The last voice Segovax heard before falling into the numb darkness belonged to Ashur.

"Rhaskos! You may need to use both hands."


	2. Chapter 2

Segovax was sharply awoken by renewed pain and a scream ripped through his throat. He could hear the pounding of the mallet and could feel the searing pain in his wrists. Something was holding him down to prevent him from thrashing wildly. Ropes.

The pain-driven delirium crept back into his mind with strong purpose. He imagined lying in a lush green field in Gallia and woodpeckers driven mad bore holes into his arms. He imagined a tall fire leaping up between his legs, the smell of blood overwhelming the smoke. His flesh burned and he knew what tragedy befell him. Finally, he thought, some grace. I will die before she can see me like this.

As they nailed his other wrist to the board, he imagined he heard music. No, not music… noise. The frantic plucking of a lyre, the discordant hoots of a misplayed flute. He screamed louder and a woodpecker at his left arm looked up from his work, his head cocked to the side, beak dripping with blood.

"Why the fuck is he screaming 'stop that noise'?"

Another bird stopped digging into his wrist and looked at him with confusion. "The pain's driven him mad. Hoist him, you gimpy shit."

He felt his body move as pain converted to shock. The illusions faded and he saw the puddle of blood forming at the dusty base of the cross. This is no Gallic meadow. This is Capua and you are sentenced to death for attempting to kill this city's savior.

You will never see Gallia again. You will never embrace her again. You dumb fuck.

The gladiators watched, some in amusement and some in disgust. A few sympathetic men shot quick glances and then looked away. Duro nearly vomited, but swallowed quickly under Agron's harsh glare.

He could hear the Champions of Capua so clearly through his haze as he felt death slowly cooling his flesh. "I will regain my position, Champion."

"And I welcome the attempt."

Segovax did not have the energy to scream again; he wanted to scream loud enough to shake the Gods from Olympus. Glory and position are of no consequence. The only thing of importance is a woman with dark red hair and sumptuous curves draped in the color he loved, the pale blue gown she wore the night he dared to kiss her for the very first time.

He thought he saw the woman in blue standing on the balcony overlooking the ludus; his eyes were already failing him. She met his eyes and he knew who it really was. He saw her blonde hair, the haughty tilt of her chin. Why did I place my trust in a Roman? For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she would speak to him.

He coughed and felt blood splatter upon his chest. Of course she will speak; she will admit to her actions, order them to lower Segovax off the cross and reattach the part of him that only the woman he loved could tame. His fingers and toes grew cold and he shivered. Then she would grant him his freedom. The chill crept into his arms and legs and he closed his eyes. Bersa would embrace him as his own son.

He could feel his heart struggling to beat in his chest.

At last, Hisolda would belong to him and Segovax would finally find peace.

_More to follow!_


	3. Chapter 3

She almost did not see him, the dark-skinned man standing in the unadorned doorway of her father's new home. The stark contrast of the whitewashed clay walls and the darkness of night hid him from view while Hisolda paced around the narrow yard, silently counting her footsteps.

She longed for the sprawling Gallic lands her father once owned, traded to a Roman legatus for a fashionable abode in the middle of Capua. She recalled stolen moments with Segovax, hidden by the darkness of night and the vastness of the property – how one kiss led to heated trysts under the cool night sky.

She ached for him in places only he could awaken. She still could not fathom how the enormousness of him fit inside every corner of her, conjuring deep roars of pleasure from her chest. The startling tenderness of his touch had not prepared her for the bestiality of their lovemaking. On moonless nights like this, when the house was quiet, her mind wandered to those sacred places, when Segovax told her he loved her. How terrified he seemed, a slave speaking to a wealthy landowner's daughter with such audacity.

"Apologies." The deep voice beckoned from the night. "I come from the villa of Quintus Lentulus Batiatus with word for the master of this house."

Hisolda peered into the doorway with fear entangled with hope. She was so sure the Gods blessed her union with Segovax when he remained near her after his sale to the slave trader. Her heart seized in her throat when her father announced plans to sell Segovax to pay for renovations to his newly acquired Roman home. "I am Hisolda. Daughter to Bersa. I will beckon him for you. Wait here."

Waking her father from his sleep was an unpleasant task – he could barely stand the sight of her during the day. Though when he heard that a man was sent from the house of Capua's most celebrated lanista, he quickly changed into finer robes and hastened his daughter to the door.

"You should have knotted your hair; you look like a damn savage." He whispered bitterly, and turned with a large smile to greet his late visitor. "I was not expecting visitors at this hour, but I am honored to receive word from the master of the Champion of Capua."

The man seemed unimpressed by her father's display. "I come to your home of my own accord; my master has no message for you. The man we purchased in the market, Segovax, he once belonged to you, did he not?"

Bersa bristled at the dismissal, feeling like a fool in his expensive garb. "Yes, he was my slave. If he has caused any mischief, he is your problem now." Hisolda's heart beat madly in her chest; she reacted with such passion at the mention of her beloved's name.

Hisolda watched the man subtly roll his eyes with frustration; he did not break his composure. "Does he have family?"

Bersa scoffed and spit in disdain. "He was the son of a whore who died upon his birth; he has no one who would give a shit about him. Why do you squander my time? Speak plainly." Such importance for a fucking slave, he mused, civilization can be so pointless.

"The man is dead."

Hisolda could barely hear Bersa's next words; she clutched the pillars holding up her father's home, desperate for support. Dead? It is not possible. Not possible. Surely he refers to another slave; most masters cannot discern one man from another when men are treated like beasts. I must see to know! a voice screamed in her ears. I will not know until I see! She frantically gathered her thoughts.

"Burn it. What do I care?" Bersa turned his back to the man to leave.

"Wait!" The men looked at her, one with curiosity and the other with repugnance. "We shall collect the body. To give the man proper burial. And to apologize for any grievance the man caused your master… if good Batiatus will have audience."

Her father grinned with distasteful abandon. If they were allowed audience with Batiatus, he could converse with the man, perhaps even impress the lanista to the point of developing a friendship. Thus securing himself as an honorable Roman man of Capua, shedding his identity as a simple Gaul. His plain daughter was of some use after all.

"The hour is not yet so late. I cannot guarantee audience, but I will make request." The man smiled at Hisolda, and she was grateful for his small kindness. The gesture brought hope to her heart and gave courage to her feet as she cloaked herself and walked toward the house of Batiatus.


	4. Chapter 4

Bersa and Hisolda waited in the main hall of the villa, listening to the voices beyond the clay walls – Doctore's even calm tone and Batiatus' angry whispers. Hisolda could barely breathe as they rode up the hill, every step of the horse in time with her own pounding heart. Would she not have felt the moment when Segovax passed from life into darkness? Her own skin was still warm, blood still coursing. Segovax instructed her to move her father toward delaying talk of her marriage; he would quickly gain his freedom with winnings in the arena and they would finally unite when he was no longer a slave. With so much yet undone, how could he leave?

"We will have such a pool in our courtyard… and marble in our foyer – to impress visitors. Our private chambers can be restored -" Her father noticed the lanista approaching, dressed in similar clothing. The man's nightclothes are my formal attire, Bersa lamented. "Honorable Batiatus, I am humbled to be received by such a celebrated man."

"Unfortunately, I would be visited by sleep at the moment." Batiatus motioned for the two to sit upon a bench, as he leaned back comfortably on a chaise. "Please. Sit."

"Much gratitude for the audience. I only just learned for Segovax's audacious betrayal. I will rid you of the man's body, to prevent any further inconvenience. I would have requested audience sooner, but I was occupied." Bersa smiled widely; Batiatus remained in apathetic silence. "I have acquired the villa of Legatus Marcus Tiberus, whom I befriended in Gallia. I am working to restore the legendary villa to previous glories."

Hisolda's skin burned with desperation as her father prepared to launch into details of the villa, how Tiberus' grandfather was rumored to have seduced his future wife, the infamous daughter of a famous senator, in the very house he owned. She marveled at her own patience as she waited for confirmation of the dreaded news.

Fortunately, Batiatus' patience was already thinned by the trials of the day. "How fortunate that the old villa should land in such capable hands. Apologies, my wife awaits me in our quarters; Doctore will show you to where we have kept the Gaul's body." The lanista nodded quickly and turned on his heel to walk away.

"Gratitude! Please beg forgiveness from your wife on my behalf! I shall visit another time to discuss- …Fuck. He is gone. Fucking impolite. And now we are burdened by a filthy slave corpse. What the fuck am I to do with this nuisance?"

Hisolda blocked her father's endless ranting as they descended into the ludus, a strange, familiar scent wafting into her nose. So this is the place where my love toiled all these days, imprisoned by rough clay walls and iron bars – cages that smelled of stables.


	5. Chapter 5

The black blood in the dust was where her eyes first fell when they stepped into the square; slaves worked quickly to ready the bloody area for morning training. The ludus was quiet, save the occasional grunt of a man in slumber.

"It is in the cart, at the far end of the square. You may borrow a horse to transport the man to your villa, unless you prefer to perform the rituals here."

Bersa grunted with frustration. "Why place the cart so far from the entrance?"

Doctore gestured toward the slaves, industriously mounting blocks of wood for combat practice. "To allow the slaves ample space to work. Once the cart is mounted to a horse, it should not give you much difficulty."

Hisolda forced herself to look at the cart, as her father busied himself with obtaining a horse to deal with the burden his daughter put upon him. Every step toward the ominous cart was taxing; she was exhausted once she reached her arm out to touch the worn wood. It seemed welcoming. Surely this cart did not contain the remains of Segovax. It is too small, too slight to carry such a massive man.

He was curled to his side, his face obscured from view. She could easily tell that he was dead by the way his arm hung at his side, his wax-like skin, the copious amounts of blood surrounding him. The wrists were punctured, the shoulders rope burned and blood coagulated between his legs in an unusual, vulgar way. She turned the man's face.

Bersa saw his only child climb into the cart with the corpse as he brought the elderly horse into the square. "Have you lost mind, girl? Girl!"

She could not hear him, she heard nothing but the sound of the sea slapping against the cliffs. His face was unchanged, not distorted in painful death, but strangely at peace in the bright moonlight. As if he was asleep. She stroked his lips and passed her hand over his hair. Segovax did not stir now; he would have taken her hand and kissed her palm in devotion. His promise is broken.

"Fucking horse, move forward. Girl, get out of the cart and help me with this damn creature!"

She lay beside Segovax, barely feeling the wet coldness of the blood or the unforgiving hardness of the cart's base. "Segovax? Segovax." She whispered and kissed his lips. Cold and dry. "I am here." She pulled him close to her, straining to listen for his heart. She only heard the waves. Her every movement rocked the flimsy cart. Burning tears escaped her tired eyes as she shut them and brought her lips to his ear.

"Take me with you."

Then Hisolda, clutching Segovax tightly, rocked the cart and, in that single motion, sent it crashing to the rocks below.


End file.
